


A Fire Burning Low

by lloronadeazulceleste



Series: The Dragon's Blood [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Gen, i swear not all of them are going to be angst, my entry for the royal family week 2019, this disfuctional family owns my soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 18:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17833805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lloronadeazulceleste/pseuds/lloronadeazulceleste
Summary: Royal Family Week 2019Day 1: Drifting (Iroh)Day 2: Ceremony (Azula & Izumi)Day 3: Broken (Iroh & Ozai; Azula & Zuko)Day 4: Coming of Age (Lu Ten)Day 5: Family (Ursa)Day 6: Reckless (Iroh)Day 7: Beautiful





	1. Drifting

**Author's Note:**

> Iroh feels the need to make promises as the people in his life drift away from him.

“You’ll marry again,” said Princess Kumiko, lying still on her bed. Her husband took her trembling hand, and covered it in small kisses that reminded her of a butterfly’s touch. She was going to miss the spring so, so much. “Lu Ten needs a mother”, she grasped for breath. Keeping her eyes open had never been this hard.

Kumiko was only grateful she could not see Iroh’s tears.  Farewells were hard on themselves; she needed not to see her own pain mirrored in the man she came to love.

The sun was setting.

She wished she could have been a better firebender. She wishef her flame had been as bright as her husband’s. She wished Iroh had felt the kind of warmth that overcame her whenever he was near –the kind of warmth that she yearned for when he was away. She wished she had been a better fighter, and that she had fought harder – she wished she didn’t have to die.

They should have had more time.

“He already has you,” he whispered back, trying and failing to keep his voice as stoic as that of a General. He was wearing a mask, through it was drifting with every passing moment. He could pretend all he wanted, but she knew him like the palm of her hand. Like her very soul. _“There’s no need –“_ he choked, and furrowed his brows. He was trying and failing, and Kumiko hated to see him in such a way. A small puff of fire escaped his mouth, and she wanted to capture the picture – how powerful and alive her husband is – to keep it always on her memory. “ _He already has you_ ,” he said, and it resembles a caress.

Kumiko wished – but there was nothing left for her to do. She had no strength left, yet she tried to give his hand a squeeze. She was trying and failing. The princess was cold as ice, no matter how hard Iroh was trying to warm her up. “You will be alright,” he promised. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

She could almost believe him, for the way his voice was carrying the words. For the way his eyes gleamed with flames. She could almost believe him, and she pretended she did. Kumiko could not stand to disappoint her husband anymore. Perhaps his pain would be bearable if he thought that she parted painlessly – that she went as softly as she came. _Tranquil. Fearless. Full of life_. But Kumiko was in so much pain she felt herself drifting to unconsciousness, so she spoke and made sure to lock her eyes with his, for a last time. For old time’s sake. For the tranquility of her soul.

“My prince…” she called, and she made an attempt at caressing his face. He didn’t flinch. She felt the roughness of his bread, and could almost feel tears burning at her eyes. Fate and time were cruel jokesters, and she wanted nothing but to see them both burn. “ _I’m so, so sorry_.”

She sounded so a _shamed_ and so _frustrated_ and _oh_ so broken Iroh wanted to throw up. _No, no, no_. His wife could not possibly be serious. The sages had predicted she would live a long life! That she would make a fair Fire Lady, and she would always be by his side. An heir – only an heir would be born from her womb, but that was more than enough if Iroh had her. _More than enough._

He was trying and failing to keep his mask from falling. Trying and failing to be the man she married – a courageous General and a witty prince – but he was afraid. Afraid their time has ended. Afraid there is nothing left to do. Afraid he was going to miss her with his very soul. So he hid his face on her hands, and warmed them with his tears. If princess Kumiko had any complaints – if she could still feel them – she said nothing.

“Take care of him. Please.”

He seemed taken aback at the very suggestion that he would not do that on his own accord. “You need not to ask me such a thing, Princess Kumiko. Your son is my very sun.”

She tried and failed to smile in a reassuring fashion, so she kissed his hands – and it resembled a ghost. “Do not… Please don’t allow him on the batterfield. _Please_.”

Iroh could not answer. He knew in the depths of his heart that he could not keep a prince from his royal duties – that he himself did not want the horrors of war to fall on his young, careless, loving child. Iroh tried and failed to find his voice, so Princess Kumiko pushed back just as vehemently. “Promise me, my prince. Promise me you won’t allow any harm to fall on him.”

A promise is a promise as long as there is life, Iroh remembered it being one of his father’s favorite quotes. The thought came to him as a block of ice.

“I promise you, my dear.” Words burned his tongue, and he kept his eyes tightly shut. He never could lie to her face, and she knew it.

Princess Kumiko trembled with a sob that was muffled, and Iroh left a dozen kisses on her cold, icy hands. “Do not cry for me, Iroh. I forbid you to shed a single tear on my name.”

“I wish we had more time.”

“We will,” she said, sounding like a promise, “someday.”

He tried and failed to believe her, but he gave her tiny hand a tight squeeze, and nodded anyway. “Anything I can do to make your passing more… bearable?”

“I can’t stand the cold. Please, make it go away. _Make it_ —“ but she never got to speak again, and Iroh knew as soon as her hand fell from his face that she was not to wake up. Not a single word was spoken as the princess laid there, in a deep slumber. She did not tremble anymore, for Iroh made sure that the fire burned at all hours and that her bed was warm.

Servants and doctors came and go as they pleased, but Iroh never spared them a second glance. Lu Ten cried and hugged his father, and the Crown Prince wished he had the strength to hug him back just as tight. Fire Lady Ilah came the second day, alongside Ozai.

“Her suffering will end,” she promised him. Iroh knew that to be true, yet could not help but wish his could see a finish, too.

“It is all for the best,” his little brother said – and he didn’t say much, really. Iroh knew that for all of Ozai’s resentfulness he loved him, and hated himself for it. Those words were as close as a condolence Ozai would offer; still Iroh couldn’t find the strength to reply – to keep his eyes from the woman he loved with his life. “You’re not alone.” Iroh could only nod.

Princess Kumiko fought death with her claws and teeth two more days. She drifted away to her eternal sleep on the morning of the third day, as the sun was coming out of his hiding place in the mountains.

* * *

 

Fifteen years later Lu Ten was riding alongside his father, eager eyes as bright as the sun. A battalion rode behind them, singing aloud a song about their latest conquest. An hymn that was composed in honor of the Dragon of the West.

“Promise me we’ll see each other at the other side, Father,” Lu Ten said, and he kept his eyes locked on his father’s frame.

Iroh knew a promise was a promise as long as there was life, and there was never a reason not to think his beautiful boy wouldn’t live a long and happy one so he answered with fire in his voice and hope in his heart: “I promise you, my loyal son.”

“Take care, General.”

“You as well, soldier.”

Lu Ten smiled at him that soft smile of his, and he made a reverence.

“Little soldier boy, comes marching home,” the young prince sang under his breath, and his ostrich horse followed his lead.

Prince Lu Ten disappeared with the sun and a singing troop. Iroh followed his frame until the shadows swallowed him, “Until the end of the war.”

A promise is a promise as long as there is life, and a life was lost at the gigantic walls of Ba Sing Se. An entire troop fell to its doom in the harsh depths of the earth, trapped and breathless – not a sun ray to lull them softly to their end. There was a song, though, as Lu Ten felt himself drifting to a kingdom never known before; fearful, and trembling, and shaking with the utter desperation of a fallen man –a song about a soldier that was coming home – a mocking of the destiny that was taken from him; a reminder of his life, or absence of it.

 


	2. A princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royal Family Week 2019
> 
> Day 2: Ceremony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A princess dies so that another one can live.

 

Once upon a time, under the summer moon and the rising sun, a princess cried her first cry. Her lungs were strong, and her cry showed not a weak character. Princess Ursa, blood of the Avatar Roku, found herself smiling despite her tiredness and her pain. A princess.  Their spare was a princess. 

After cunning warriors and accomplished rulers, a princess was born from a prince. If the fire sages predicted something was wrong with the baby’s gender, they said nothing – the star that shone over their window – powerful and bright – told them what they wanted to hear: the union had finally succeeded. The baby was a princess of fire, yes – the blood of the dragon and the avatar. Ursa did not know whether to feel scared or relieved. She had given her nation what it asked from her; but to her it made no difference. So what if Zuko had been born in the winter! It didn’t matter a single bit, for her heart beat the faster whenever he was in her arms. So what if this new baby was kissed by Agni! Ursa saw a delicate baby in need of a mother.

She heard hushed steps outside the room, and the door was suddenly opened. Ursa was in no way surprised to see her lord husband’s face – features shaded by a lack of sleep and just a small hint of worry that was confirmed by his disheveled robes. His eyes felt warm on her, and she smiled despite the pain and despite the worry – he was with her, and nothing could ever go wrong in that.

“It is a girl,” she said, and was surprised at how steady and strong her voice seemed.

“So I heard,” was his reply, as he closed the distance between them so she could see the hint of a smile on his lips.

The small baby was being cleaned by the matrons, who hurried to take out the bloodied rags and sheets the princess had soaked in her entry to this world.

“Zuko…?” Ursa asked, trying to fix her posture as Ozai took his place beside her.

“He is sleeping,” he said, and he glanced at the baby at the other side of the room. Then, his smile was clearer, “didn’t want to lose the birth of his sister, but he was too tired to keep his eyes open,” he said, and though his tone was monotone one could see just how proud he was in the way his glaze was lit. A frown told her that happiness was not the only thing in his mind, though. _“I thought—“_

Ursa sighed, “I did, too. But it all went alright,” she said. Ozai, in all his graceful clumsiness, took her hand and left a burning kiss. He had been so close to lose her he almost felt her escaping through his fingers. “ _I’m—I’m fine_.”

He studied her in silence with eyes that resembled a hawk’s. Prince Ozai seemed to be eased by the way her smile shone, and he gifted his bride another kiss. “She must be quite stubborn, then. Just like you,” he said, and the playfulness in his tone was a warm caress.

“You’re one to talk,” she replied, a raised brow and a happy tone.

The servants were kind enough to leave them alone.

Ursa rested her head against her husband’s shoulder. It was safer, somehow. Being able to rest in the one she loved the most. Silence surrounded them as Ozai drew imaginary patterns on Ursa’s shoulders. It was thick, and filled with the calm that can only come after a storm.

“I wasn’t worried.”

Ursa begged to differ, for she had heard his worried steps across the hallway. She had come to know them –know him—like another part of her soul. She smiled, and her teasing tone came back to haunt him. “So you wouldn’t care if the mother of your children died?”

“I know you,” he simply said, “I know you’re stronger than that.” And he kissed her, hard. His hands found their place at her cheeks, and massaged her hair soaked with sweat. If he was disgusted, he did not show it. Perhaps happiness was blinding. Perhaps love was blind. “You’ve thought of a name?”

“So many nights a blue dragon appeared on my sleep,” she whispered, not for the first time.

Her prince sighed, “She will be called after her grandfather, then. I am sure Father will be pleased.”

Ursa ignored the deep pain that stabbed her then. She could never get used to the desperate attempts her husband made at gaining his father’s love. _A mad king cannot love anyone_ , she thought.  

She closed her eyes and added in a small voice with her heart on her hands, “ _are you pleased, my prince_?”

“Utterly,” he replied, and he sounded so young and so full of light she never questioned the trught of his word. She kissed him, and could only stop once the maids brought them the young princess.

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Princess Azula,” said Ozai, as Ursa saw him carrying the baby in his arms. She thought it was the closer her husband would get to say he loved his daughter.

Zuko joined them in the morning, and hugged her mother tightly.

“Can I carry her, mom?” he asked, so happy his eyes burned with a fire that slept inside him, and she buried him in the softest kisses as she explained how it was not possible. At least, not for now. They had all the time in the world to hug each other, after all.

* * *

 

The festivities lasted for a week. All around the Fire Nation there could be heard the hymns of a princess that were written years and years ago, but were finally remembered.

* * *

 

Once upon a time, a princess kissed by the sun lost her mind and her way, and all she considered precious. Once upon a time, a princess was consumed by the fire. Once upon a time, a princess fought her demons and her failures, and owned her loss with honor. Once upon a time, a princess found her way. She fought a war and lost her all but came back victorious – no glory left for a conqueror that conquered herself. Once upon a time, a princess came back, and found a home that was broken and a family that hurt but did not stop trying.

* * *

 

Once upon a time, a princess carried in her arms another princess. Amber eyes looked back at the older princess, and a rhythmical laughter carried the song of the fallen, and the promise to the reborn.

Princess Izumi was born on the spring, between the scents of jasmine and sand, in a room guarded by forty five souls loyal to the crown. Fire Lady Mai was paler than a ghost, and dried tears roamed down her cheeks. Her agony ended once she heard her daughter’s sharp cry. A baby that was not kissed by death was finally placed in her arms. Mai was faster – she had learned the hard way – and kissed her chubby cheeks. Fire Lady Mai knew the very instant she looked into her daughter’s cloudy eyes that there was nothing she wouldn’t do for her.

“It’s a girl,” Ursa whispered, as if Mai hadn’t felt that before, in her womb. As if it mattered. Ursa’s tone was muffled by her joy, and Mai could forget for a moment all she knew about masks, and joined in her silent cry.

“It’s alive,” she whispered back, and the hard beating of Izumi’s heart filled her to the brim with a happiness she wasn’t sure she was able to feel, before. Her mother caressed her shoulder, and gave her a tiny squeeze.

“It is alive,” then said Ursa, between a sob too happy to choke.  “Call for the Fire Lord!” she  yelled, without taking her eyes off the little girl. “Tell him it is time to meet his daughter!”

“Didn’t you hear her?!” Azula cried, sharp eyes and sharp glances, “bring Fire Lord Zuko at this very instant; it is an order from your princess!” she entered the room with a Fire Sage at her talons.

“You’re alive,” Zuko said in a whisper, as soon as the door opened for him. He felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. “Mai, I—“

“I know,” she whispered as soft as a caress,  “I know. And I, you. Come meet your daughter,” his wife said with a shaky breath, and she never seemed as dreamlike as in that moment. Zuko gave her a sloppy kiss that was all teeth and tears, and bruises too old to be hurting. She was happy to reply with a sigh of her own and her hope in her hands.

“Izumi,” he croaked, and his legs felt shaky under the weight of his happiness and the piercing fear of having his joy taken from him.

“She will live until her old age, Fire Lord. She will rule with justice, and she will be deeply loved,” an old Sage said in all his stiffness, polite enough to ignore the scene between the Fire Lord and his family.

“She already is,” he said, looking at the baby. His hands were shaking against her soft skin, and Mai gave him support by keeping hers –steady and warm – over his.

“Fire Lord, with all due respect, we haven’t told you if she is a bender,” another Sage ventured, looking at his ruler from behind his spectacles and a severity that felt harsh.

Zuko wanted to laugh. Before Azula could snap at them – for _how dare they be so disrespectful towards their Fire Lord who already has passed through enough pain for it to be of any importance? – Z_ uko shook his head and raised a hand.  He spoke without a hint of a doubt, “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all.”

* * *

 

Once upon a time, a princess had a choice. Once upon a time, a princess grew surrounded by love behind walls too big to be destroyed. Once upon a time, a princess sang to the sun. Once upon a time, a princess sat by her father’s side without a single hint of fear. Once upon a time, a princess brought a nation to its knees by the love it had for her – a love that she corresponded. Once upon a time, a princess got to mend her forefather’s sins, and she did so without complaining.

Once upon a time, a princess died so that another princess could live. The ceremony lasted for two days, and no one dared to taint the memory of Princess Azula ever again, for her own past was forgotten in her last act of love. Her ashes were laid to rest along her ancestors, and she was honored in her sacrifice. All around the Nation, there could be heard the whispers of the princess’ last breath and what she chose to do with it. Poets wrote songs about her power, and the strength it takes to mend one’s way.

A forgotten father heard no word of it, and so he never understood where the new songs were coming from. He was found singing along to a piece about madness, and the love that is found within.

They said Lady Ursa went mad with pain; that she did unspeakable things to the culprits –that not even their mothers could recognize them once she was done. But Lady Ursa was not done, and her broken cries told as much. That only another woman’s sorrow could match her own. That Fire Lady Mai held her tight and apologized without feeling it over and over again, until Ursa could almost believe it.

They said Lord Zuko held his sister until her body went cold, and her scarred body was wet with her blood and his tears. The Fire Lord lost her trusted advisor. Zuko lost his sister.

Izumi vowed to never forget a sacrifice made in her honor. Izumi was faithful to her word, and so once upon a time, a Fire Lady was crowned for the first time after centuries. The festivities lasted for an entire month, and in prison, a forgotten father smiled in his sneer, and wished he had been there to see such glory for himself.

All around the Nation could be heard hymns and songs that were written long ago and some new. People danced until their feet hurt, and then more. Their Fire Lady joined them, and her laughter was the loudest, and her father was the proudest. They say the former queen cried. If asked, she would deny it. But Izumi knew better.

* * *

 

Once upon a time, a Fire Lady sat in Sozin’s palace, and ruled with grace and wisdom.

Once upon a time, a Fire Lady loved fiercely a man she could not love, and she bore him a son and a daughter. Once upon a time, a princess raised siblings who knew not about hatred or vice, their hearts filled with a strong sense of pride in doing things right. 

 


	3. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iroh comes home to a broken hime. A palace haunted by death. Azula comes back to nothing she knew before.

Iroh comes home to a broken home. A palace haunted by death.

His golden boy is gone, and that is a wound that has yet to heal. He wonders if he will ever be free from the vision of his wonderful son buried under ruins. Of his twisted body covered in dirt and the look of terror on his face. His wife’s warmth and comfort is nowhere to be found –it lies cold, away, long lost but never forgotten. There is nothing he wouldn’t trade to embrace Kumiko another time; to have someone with whom to mourn his son. He has traveled the known and the unknown, but everything has simply lost all spark.

He had not expected to find his home without his father in it, but he can’t say he is surprised. Nothing surprises him these days.

His father’s ashes rest on the catacombs and that is the first place he visits. Candles burn on each side of the funeral urn where the powerful Fire Lord Azulon lies, and the former Crown Prince –shamed, failure, childless – bows after it. His forehead touches the dark rock at the floor, and he breathes. Everything seems like something out of a dream. He wishes he’d lose the ability to dream. He is tired of the same visions every single night.

He wishes Azulon were there. He wishes he could scream and yell and cry until his eyes hurt, but he has done enough of that already. Iroh is sure there is no left of him to mourn.

“I needed you,” he admits in a slow voice, his throat tight. “I need you,” he says and it is almost a child’s begging but Iroh can’t find it in himself to be ashamed. “My boy… You never told me what it’d cost.”

He closed his eyes. He could almost pretend to feel Father’s serpent-like stare focused on him. “I received your letter. All of them. But I couldn’t…” he stops; he needs to stop. He can’t keep on going, or his throat will give up on the knot of a broken cry.

Iroh does not visit Princess Kumiko’s final resting place. He is ashamed of what she’d think of him. He had promised –had sworn to protect their beautiful boy, and he had guided him to his death.

He goes back to the palace, and is received with mocking glances and pity. Murmur follows him, but General Iroh keeps his head held high. There is nothing they can say to him that could hurt him anymore.

“I thought you had died,” Ozai’s words almost go unnoticed.

Iroh wishes he had. He doesn’t say, though. “I am back, brother.”

“So I see,” he says, and actually looks uncomfortable for a little bit. He fumbles, and Iroh can almost see the small boy he had once been. “Brother, after your absence our Father named me his heir. His last wish was for me to rule after him.”

Iroh can simply nod. He has no trouble picturing his father sneering at his weakness. Of course he would not trust the country to him. The Fire Nation needed a strong hand. “Long may you reign,” Iroh says then, a mere whisper, and finds he does not miss what was taken from him.

He envies not the crown resting atop his brother’s head. He has had enough of it to last for a lifetime.

“I understand you might not be happy with that decision, but I am simply honoring our father’s wishes.”

“Of course,” Iroh nods again. He thinks he is going to throw up.

“You were no longer strong for the crown. You showed weakness and cowardice. A true warrior would have stayed,” Ozai’s sneer falls not on deaf ears.

“I extend my most sincere apologies to my Fire Lord,” he says, and lowers his head once again.  The Throne Room’s echo never as unbearable as that very day.

“You may rise,” he says, and so Iroh does. “General Iroh, I am a merciful man. You are allowed to remain living at the Palace.”

“I thank my Fire Lord.”

 

* * *

 

Azula comes back to nothing she knew before.

She is not a day older than 25 when she sees the Palace one more time. Her feet are covered in blisters that hurt every time she takes a step – she’s come so far. Princess Azula has traveled the world and suffered enough to last her a lifetime. She has known famine and sickness, hard rock as a bed and dirty water for drink. Ever since she escaped from the mental facility her brother left her, she had lived life one day at a time.

But Azula had a dream – a vivid one – one where her mother’s voice was not sharp as a knife, one where his father’s shadow did not swallow her. She dreamed of a princess with golden eyes running around the castle.  She dreamed of poison and ghosts. She dreamed of Zuko, and of Mai, and a red dragon that mourned and burned everything at his pass. She dreamed of a fountain. Every night she would go to sleep and she would see it all again. Sometimes the little girl would sing. Sometimes she would cry. But the young girl would always, always extended her shaky hand to Azula, calling for the princess to save her. 

Azula had a dream, and she tasted poison in the morning.

The palace looks much different. She feels her breath quicken when she notices the golden gates, and her resolution shakes. Azula is not ready – she feels she is never going to be. A decade has passed and she thinks it is time. 

She knows her brother had been looking for her – evading all his efforts had not been an easy task. She does not know what he will do once he sees she is back for good. Will he imprison her? Will he ask for her head?

She has changed. She is no longer the poised princess she was; she has had to wear her hair cut short so that lice don’t infect her hair. So that she did not have to do it every single day without help. She cut it with a sword.  Makeup is expensive, and so she has long forgotten about it. Her lips are cracked and her nails are dirty and broken, hands hardened by work. She had tried to look as good as she could, so that her brother would recognize her. Granted, what she is wearing could pass as rags compared to the fine silks she used to prefer, and her hair hadn’t gotten long enough for her to put it in a top knot.

But she had tried, and that alone should've been enough.

“I am here to speak to Fire Lord Zuko,” she says at the doors, and the guards are suspicious.

Azula has always been a good liar, and she knows there is no way in hell she could pass as a princess. So she does what she does best, and is proud to know her talent is still latent.

She is escorted to the Throne Room, and follows through. Everything has changed, from the floors to the trapestries of her forefathers, and she is once reminded that she is a stranger in the place she once thought of as home. Her father's shadow is nowhere to be seen, but it lingers in the air. She thought she had grown enough for it not to bother her. She was wrong.

Once inside,  Azula bows, her forehead touching the floor. She dares not look at her brother, afraid of what she'll find.

“You may rise,” Zuko says. He sounds so different yet so alike her memories she is shaken.

“Tell your name to the Fire Lord, and how he can help you,” a Counselor says, and Azula nods.

Her knees hurt from the effort it takes to stand, but she manages to do so without fainting or whimpering. These days her victories are not what they used to be.

Perhaps she should've rehearsed her speech. With her throat dry, she starts, “I have traveled all around the world, through storm and through drought.  I have served the Fire Lord in all the little ways I humbly could.". Her voice is as loud as it once was when she commanded armies, "my life is hardly of use, but I know I possess some skills that might be useful to my Fire Lord," this time she does look at her brother. "My name is Azula, daughter of fire and blood of the dragon, named after Azulon the Great,” she starts in a whisper that is alien to her ears, her hands tight in front of her. Do not stutter, she chides herself, a princess does not whisper. A princess is confident. “I am here to speak with my brother,” she says, the picture of the perfect princess she once thought she was, and poses her eyes on Zuko. He stops. “And offer my life.”

The Counselor laughs, and her brother rolls his eyes. “And how can we know you are telling the truth?” he asks, an eyebrow rose. “You could be an impostor. Princess Azula had her hair longer, and she did not dress in rags.”

"Not to mention her troubled mind would keep her from making such an offer," another one says, amusement in his voice. 

Those in the room laugh as well. Everyone but her brother, who keeps his eyes on her. She feels she could burn at any moment from his eyes alone. He is looking for a sister he never had; for a girl he used to know.

“Very well,” she says, and she sighs. Former princess Azula stands up straighter, and her knees almost fail her. She had thought about the moment; in her mind, she would be elegant and poised, she would give a beautiful speech. No words leave her mouth. Her confidence has suffered enough, but if they want a show, she'd gladly deliver. A princess accepts a challenge.

Azula holds her hands in front of her, and concentrates. It has gotten harder with time and a lack of practice, but she could never forget her art. She had worked so fucking hard all her life for it to be perfect, she could never forget – her father had made sure of it. The once princess produces a flickering flame. It burns blue.

The Throne Room falls silent, and she is hardly aware of a woman's soft cry. 

“Hello, Zuzu,” Azula says, and as much as she tried to sound nonchalant and happy, Zuko does notice the way her voice shakes.

“Azula,” he breathes, and the fire around his dai dies.

She thinks she will cry. She hates how emotional she’s gotten so suddenly. “Yes, brother.”

“You’ve come home.”

Her only answer is a nod; she is afraid they will hear her sobbing.

* * *

 

Azula is not a day older than 25 when she comes home and finds it has changed. Mai is confined in the Fire Lord’s rooms and has not left for over a week. Azula can’t say she is surprised; she had known Mai before, after all. She has every right in the world to be upset, the princess muses. She does not hold it against her. When two weeks pass and the Fire Lady is nowhere to be seen, Azula asks why. Her brother’s voice breaks, and tells her to mind her business.

Azula is not a day older than 27 when she comes to see Mai’s belly swell with child for a few months, only to disappear in a blinking. She finally understands. Ursa shares a long look with her, in front of the Fire Lady’s rooms, and nods in such a sad way Azula is once reminded that whatever grew in her sister-in-law’s belly was her blood, too. Azula does not need to ask what happened; she sees bloodied sheets. Mai does not receive visitors, and Zuko avoids holding court altogether. He does not ask for her help, but she dives in anyway. Ursa did not even have to ask. The former princess entertains the nobles – they seem so amused to be in presence of a crazy princess she could almost find it in herself to haunt them for a little bit –.  She tends to their worries and offers strategy.

When her brother comes out of his rooms two weeks later, she is at his office. He has dressed in his Fire Lord regalia once again, but the circles under his eyes betray just what he has been through. The look on his face, of utter resignation and no little chagrin, tells her he has been worried by his neglected work. He walks, and he drags his feet so weakly it makes her stomach turn.

He seems like a ghost.

“I took care of it,” she quickly explains, her hands folded in front of her. Her brother’s only answer is a sigh. “Everything’s been cared for.”

“Thank you,” he says after a pause, and she notices the way his voice shakes. The way he seems to be so troubled.

“It was nothing,” she rests it importance with a movement of her hand, and avoids looking at him. It’s probably what he needs.

There is a pause as he goes through the scrolls in the desk. The ones she had busied herself fixing. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here,” his voice is small and the princess has a hard time listening to it. “I know some of them can be a walking nightmare.”

She balances on the balls of her feet. “It was nothing, really. Don’t— _don’t worry.”_

He pauses for a moment. Azula finds the silence unbearable. “I _-I couldn’t…”_ she understands now. He needs to let it out. She nods slightly, prompting him to continue. “They’ve been pestering us ever since we married.”

She invites him to sit. She considers the meaning behind his words. The shadows found in his eyes. They have never been a normal family, but she is now ready to pretend they are.

He tells the story of a baby boy too small who had his mother’s shiny black hair. The story of a frail little girl who had looked blue, whose hand closed on his thumb; the feel of a ghost’s caress. He tells her the stories of babies whose faces they could never meet, but saw in their dreams. Of heartbeats that lulled him to sleep, and that stopped before they could even held them in their arms.

“I am so sorry,” she says, a mere whisper, and pushes Zuko’s hair out of his face. He does not nod, does not answer. His lower lip trembles, and he closes his eyes. She can feel the way pain has tainted him, so she does something she has not done since she was a small, small child.

Azula wraps her arms around his brother, and lets him cry on her shoulder.

 


	4. the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Coming of age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Lu Ten grows older, he gains understanding of the world around him. He'd rather be blind to his family's ways.

Cherry trees bless the spring, and the young prince drags a long breath – it has always been his favorite scent. More than his father’s tea, more than the ashes from his bending, more than the softest tarts from the kitchens or the breeze of the sea. Perhaps it is the reminder of his childhood, or the perfume her mother preferred, Lu Ten is not sure. The mind stands no chance against time, and memory slipped from the prince’s fingers, no matter how hard he fought. He does not ask simple questions – he has grown out of them. A prince has no time for platitudes, after all. That is a lesson he learned with time, and one he does not take lightly. There will come the day when his nation will need him, and the sleeping dragon needs to be ready.

He feels his uncle’s glance before he sees the man himself, and Lu Ten waits for the inevitable chat that will come out of it. He turns and looks at a pair of golden eyes so alike his own, and for a moment he lets his guard down.

Uncle Ozai is not much older than him. He remembers attending his lessons and doing his chores by his uncle’s side. He remembers hiding at the catacombs, and the ochre smell of it all. Lu Ten needs only to close his eyes, and he is chasing and being chased by a presence he came to like. The young prince remembers being held when he thought he was not going to make it – when his father’s spare thought his life had been equal to Lu Ten’s.

The young prince remembers Azulon’s ill-masked worry as they found their hiding place and the smell of burnt flesh at his father’s feet.

The prince does not remember Ozai’s heated glare as his father and his brother made sure the heir was safe first and foremost. He does not remember the force that the spare used to stand, or the wooden pride he showed when he walked without giving anyone a second look; he does not remember, for even if Ozai walked like a true prince, he was not the one who held power.

Their time together didn’t last; years weighted on him, and the young prince could not keep his young uncle from his duties any longer. As Lu Ten grew brighter, Ozai grew colder. The young prince cannot pinpoint the exact moment their relationship shattered, but he knows that no matter how much he wants to, his uncle may not be the same person he once was.

He went away in a blinking.

“Nervous?” he speaks. His voice has changed, too. There is no longer that awkward timbre Lu Ten remembers from his first years.  He feels no comfort in the regality he now finds in it.

“Should I be?” he answers, and lets his hands fall at his sides. A prince never truly shows what he is feeling. He suspects he can’t let the mask fall even around his family. Azulon does not accept failure and there is nothing worse than weakness.

Ozai laughs, but it lacks the light it once held. The sound echoes around the hall, and the guards seem to play closer attention to their masters, if only to entertain in the court gossip.

“It’s not like you can ruin it,” his uncle says as he idly inspects the ends of his luscious locks. There is venom in his tone, even if Lu Ten cannot see it.

“Will Lady Ursa join us?” The prospect is exciting. He has been looking forward to the day the union is made official and he can call the lovely lady her aunt. He knows Ozai is, too. Lu Ten might be young, but he is not blind. The older prince’s eyes shine whenever she enters a room. Love or lust of power –whatever it might be— is a powerful motivator.

“Who knows,” is his uncle’s uninterested reply. He shrugs, and the action is too natural for it to be true. The young dragon is none the wise.

“You should,” Lu Ten says back, a small teasing smile on his lips. Prince Ozai might be his older, but he is still his nephew – in the future, he will be his king, too. Surely he can spare some time for a joke, Lu Ten muses.

Ozai does not betray his emotions easily; he hasn’t in the past years, but Lu Ten knows where to look. The older prince lifts an eyebrow, and there is the ghost of a smile barely pulling at the corner of his lips, though he fights it with honor. It is with honor that he wins.

The young dragon can’t say he is surprised, even if he can’t understand why a man on his right mind would deny himself of love. Much less when it comes from a creature as lovely as his future aunt.

“I hold no power over the Fire Lord’s guest; He, in all his wisdom, will know where and when to invite her.”

Lu Ten laughs – it is irritable, and childish and so pathetic Ozai actually wants to roll his eyes, but keeps himself from saying so. Only a frown betrays his true feelings.

“The Fire Lord is _your_ father. _My_ grandfather. We are alone – surely we can forget protocol.”

“We could,” Ozai concedes, though half-heartedly. He shakes his head. “You will do well remembering that our glory lies on our greatness, however.” It is now turn for Lu Ten to frown, but the older prince – the uncle he came to call a friend – does not flinch; it seems that his nephew has lost the power he held over him.

Lu Ten does not like the feeling of neglect any better than he likes having no power.

“Make sure the ladies don’t notice the way your voice trembles. No one likes a weak prince,” Ozai says, sparing him a glance. Lu Ten feels himself smile at the prospect of his favorite uncle sharing a piece of advice, but there’s something in the action –the mere act of looking at him –that says he is gracing _him_ with his attention, and Lu Ten loses his ease. His uncle bows at him, though it is hardly with the same respect as his subjects or the sages do. “Good luck, _my prince_.”

Ozai disappears with no fanfare, leaving Lu Ten guessing if he ever cared for him, before. With a sigh, the young prince stands straighter and curses under his breath. At twelve, he is not a child. He will show his uncle as much. If he does not care for him as a nephew, he will care for him as a king. He will make sure of it.

His father’s footsteps –careful though firm – bring him back to reality. Lu Ten turns to smile at the glowing pride with which Prince Iroh looks at him.

“Nervous?”

“Just a little,” he admits in a small voice.

“You’ll be the greatest prince this nation has ever seen, my son. And they will love you as such,”

his father says in a tone that equals Lu Ten’s. Iroh has no doubt.

The young dragon surprises his father with a long and tight hug that leaves him breathless.  Iroh closes his eyes, and laughs a little. How could someone not love his beautiful boy? He  looks at him and sees nothing but a good prince. An imaginative kid. A dreamer. A little soldier who never gives up; a son who loves with everything he is. The picture of a loyal citizen to the Fire Nation. A true dragon. No one would ever hurt him, that he knows. One must lack a heart to take the light off of his fire-filled eyes.

Feared General Iroh closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the gesture. There will come a day where they will have to part ways. He will march to the front with no promises of coming back, leaving his golden child behind. There will come a day where his little soldier will join him, and he can’t help but look forward to it.

“It is time, prince Lu Ten,” he says over his hair –so soft it reminds him of Lu Ten’s mother.

“Lead the way, father,” his golden child says with the voice of a son and not a prince. Iroh wouldn’t have preferred it other way.

The curtains open, and a baritone’s voice announces his coming. There is applause, and he feels the pride with which his father’s hand rests on his shoulder and Fire Lord Azulon’s calculating eyes fixed on them from across the room, his lips barely curving in a smile. There’s the hint of a smile on his lips that was not there when Ozai was announced, but Lu Ten does not know that.

He could care less.

The hymn starts to play, and Prince Lu Ten walks down the stairs by the Dragon of the West’s side. Nothing could ever be better than that.

Lady Ursa did join them at the party, Lu Ten learns as he sees her from across the room. She smiles that lovely smile of hers, surrounded by a group of young courtiers that pretend to be interested in what Hira’a is like. Lu Ten does not know, but not everyone is as excited as him at the prospect of the Avatar’s blood union to the crown.  

There is no dancing, but the food is exquisite, and the hymns a delight. The Sages murmur into his father’s ears, and the eyes of the Dragon of the West burn the brightest with a father’s love.

“Princes Kumiko would be so proud,” is whispered among the groups and it reaches the prince’s ears. He can’t help but wonder, but he wears the compliment as if it came from the very same Fire Lord. Kumiko has become a shadow, but one he is happy to keep in his heart.

All eyes are on Prince Lu Ten; it is then that Ozai asks for Lady Ursa’s to join him for a walk.

They are gone for a big part of the ceremony, Lu Ten notices with a frown. All eyes are on him, and he is grateful. He only wishes his uncle would be happy for him, though he dares not to admit it to himself. That would suggest he believes his uncle does not care for him at all, and he is not yet ready for that.

Lu Ten is presented for all his country to see, and there is joyful screams and applause. No eyes left for the young spare – the last fruit of Lady Ilah’s womb matters not when compared to the Crown Prince’s heir. Ozai is not there to see it; there is something he wants more than the rights that were taken from him. Ozai is not there, and Lu Ten can’t help but feel it as a slap to his face.

Lu Ten sees not the way Lord Ozai sits with his bride at the foot of a tree near the pond. He sees not the way Ozai struggles to catch his breath and messes his words more times Ursa could count. He does not see, either, the way the turtle ducks spy on the young couple as Lady Ursa offers them bread. He sees not the way Ozai’s eyes seem wounded when she laughs carefree at him. He sees not the way the prince promises the world, lacking the beautiful words he studied or the exquisite manners he vowed to show. Lu Ten is not there to see the way Lady Ursa kisses her prince, pulling him closer to her. His crown falls from her eagerness and her caring hands, but Azulon’s oldest doesn’t care. He finds that forgetting who he is, at least for a moment, is not so bad.

For a moment, nothing matters.

“I will give you a crown of your own,” Ozai promises, and Lu Ten is not there to hear. Not there to see the way Lady Ursa smiles and shuts him with another soft kiss. Promises were never as lovely as those whispered by the pond, under the moon’s softest caress.  

No night can be perfect, and so it comes to an end. Ozai sees Ursa part from his side with her head held high and an elegance that betrays her upbringing. He almost missed his brother’s coming to him.

“You missed the Sages’ speech,” Iroh mutters under his breath, the picture of a collected prince. Ozai has just insulted his lineage, and the Dragon would not allow it.

“Did I?” his brother answers, unbothered. It takes a great deal for Iroh to play it cool, but he reminds himself that his losing control is exactly what Ozai wants. He does not play by his rules; he has never, and he is not to start now.

His Lu Ten, however, is something he can’t help but defend with his all. “He is your nephew, Ozai.”

“Then he will forgive his loving uncle’s misstep.” He looks at him, and does not even bother to hide his annoyance. Iroh purses his lips. Ozai’s eyes gleam, and for the first time in many years, Iroh sees joy in them. It makes his blood boil. “ _I am sorry, brother of mine_ ,” the young prince continues, and the way his eyes darken tells no niceties even if his tone is sweet as sugar, “but I had to take it out of my chest. I could not live any longer with it,” he breathes, and if Iroh were another he might have fallen for his baby brother’s act. “I am to marry Lady Ursa in the summer. Surely you haven’t forgotten what is like to love another, dear brother?”

Iroh does not answer Ozai’s smile. “Congratulations, Prince Ozai,” he bows his head. “She will make a good wife,” Iroh says, and it falls not on deaf ears the implied meaning behind of his equally sweet tone. Ozai clenches his jaw.  “Do not forget to pay your respects to your Prince. It would do you good to remember your place.”

With that, Iroh is gone. His cape murmurs in the air, and his steps are strong and graceful. Ozai made a promise, and a crown will rest on Lady Ursa’s head one day. Iroh simply does not know it yet.

His smile disappears.

* * *

 

Lu Ten is eighteen when he reaches his mature age. There is a ball to celebrate, and members of the royal houses of the Fire Nation attend with their pretty heirs. Crown Prince Lu Ten, heir of the Dragon Throne will choose a bride once the siege of Ba Sing Se is over, and more than one are eager to occupy the role.

General Iroh enters the room with his son dressed in the finest silks and their hairs in a bun; the style of a warrior. There is no nervousness – it has left the prince a long, long time ago. He is in his element; he has been born to rule over the people inside the room.  Applause erupts and the young prince and his father are welcomed with a war song about the General’s last conquest, and the young dragon’s greatest adventure. Fire Lord Azulon watches with little interest as they move around their guests, pleased with their manners and success.

“Little brother, you are looking nice,” Lady Ursa bows respectfully to the two of them.

“You’re not bad yourself, dear Aunt,” Lu Ten smiles at her, and engulfs her in a hug. “How are the kids? I couldn’t meet them earlier.”

“They are eager to meet with their favorite cousin,” she smiles.

“How was the front?” Ozai asks with a glass in his hand, and Lu Ten’s smile disappears as soon as it came.

“Eventful, Uncle, but the Fire Nation holds its grounds. Soon, Ba Sing Se will be ours,” he has no doubt, how can he?

He knows his father’s reputation was not built in lies. He knows it is his destiny to ride by his father’s side to a conquest that will grant them glory and honor. He will bring the Earth Kingdom to its knees, and he will rebuild it from scratch for the glory of the Fire Nation. Like a Phoenix, his kingdom will reborn, and his father will be there to reign until his dying day.

So was said by the prophecy, and so Lu Ten believes.

“Just as Sozin dreamed,” his uncle says with a small nod, and Lu Ten can’t help but see the way something in Ursa’s eyes flashes. She says nothing; she is too intelligent for that. Sometimes, Lu Ten forgets she is Avatar Roku’s blood.

Sometimes, he thinks she has forgotten.

“But what about you?” she asks after taking a sip of sake. Her sweet tone makes one forget how carefully chosen her words are. “What has filled our dearest prince’s dreams? Have you got your eyes on a woman yet?” Ursa smiles at her nephew, and Lu Ten can’t help but laugh.

“There is no rush, dearest Sister. My father is busy at the siege, and my heart beats for our nation,” he says in his Prince voice, and it takes all his strength for Ozai not to roll his eyes.

“Your nation will need a strong consort, my prince,” says Ursa with a delicate hand on the young prince’s shoulders, “I’m sorry Princess Kumiko is not here to help.”

“She would have wanted me to be happy.”

“She would,” Ozai concedes, but it is too low to study his tone. Lu Ten has giving up on that for quite some time.

“Are you, my prince?” Ursa looks at him with bright eyes and a brighter smile. “Are you happy?”

“More than anything,” he doesn’t even hesitate. How could he? Lu Ten has everything one could ever desire, and then more. He has his father by his side, and what can be any better?

Ozai makes a toast for the young prince long and happy life, and Lu Ten graces it with a small bow.

 

* * *

 

“Shhh, Zuzu, don’t laugh, they’re going to hear us!” the young girl protests in a voice too loud to be secretive.

“They are going to hear you if you can’t keep your mouth shut!” Zuko says, as annoyed as his age permits allows him.

“I can’t see cousin Lu Ten.” Azula tries, but even standing on her tiptoes she can’t spot the flame crown she knows her cousin must be wearing. In front of them, a sea of nobles extends talking in hushed tones.

“He is right there,” Zuko says in a whisper, suddenly remembering how important it is to stay hidden. They are supposed to be sleeping, after all. Escaping from Li and Lo was never an easy task, but always a pleasure they indulged whenever possible. This time it was particularly harder, and it had resulted in an accident with their bending and them hiding at the salon in their sleepwear. “The one with the bun.”

“I can’t see anything! Your gigantic head takes too much space!” she protests in hushed tones, and Zuko made an exasperated sound that was so alike Ursa Azula couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“ _If Father catches us_ —“

“He won’t do anything,” she says.

“He won’t be happy.”

“Are you afraid, Zuzu?” If Azula wasn’t so tired she would find delight in the way her brother seems to fear their father. If Azula were another, she would have been terrified of it.

“I’m not afraid!” Zuko was always easy to anger. Pouting, he pushed his sister. “It wasn’t my idea, anyway!”

Azula likes not to be handled like a little girl, so she pulls from Zuko’s phoenix tail. “But you’re here, dum dum!”

“ _That’s because I didn’t want to—_!”

“Shut up, they are going to hear us!”

“ _You_ shut u--!”

“I cannot wait to see Princess Azula’s presentation,” the two siblings freeze when they listen to their cousin’s voice.

“A princess kissed by fire, after so long. It certainly cannot go uncelebrated,” Ursa says, and for a moment, Azula thinks she hears pride in her words. Her little heart beats too fast, and she can’t help but smile. Princess Ursa goes on through gritted teeth, but her smile does not betray her discomfort. “If only she wasn’t so… temperamental.”

“She will grow out of it, dear Sister. She’s still young.”

Ursa’s answer is a tired sigh that she tries to cover with her bright smile. She would never let her mask slip. She trained well for that. Azula sees her smile, but she sees the way her eyes betray her frustration too, if only for a few seconds. The young princess’ heart no longer seems to flutter in its happiness.

“She is a fast learner,” Ozai says, and it sounds like he is trying to defend her. “And a bending prodigy,” he continues, and the way he says so is filled with pride and an ambition that Ursa does not see. For all of her father’s compliments, Azula has only eyes for the way her mother scoffs. Excellence is expected; a princess cannot be anything but perfect. Approval is needed, but her mother would not give it to her. The princess’ smile disappears just as fast as her mother’s, and she is pretty much tempted to set the curtain on fire just to see a reaction.

Lu Ten, who had watched the two closely, nods. “I heard you are considering sending Zuko to Master Piandao.” The young prince knows when a battle is not his to fight, and so he retires with honor.

“He is really talented with knives!”Ursa’s spirits lighten up when Zuko is mentioned. She does not seem to need to act.

The young prince stands taller and smiles smugly at her sister, who in turn rolls her eyes.

“Your father has suggested it; I am simply following his counsel,” Ozai explains. “Though I can’t say the boy has no talent for the art,” there’s the smallest hint of a smile again, and Zuko understands that is the closest he will get to hear an ‘I love you’ from his father, so he treasures it close to his heart.

“He has the spirit of a warrior; no matter how much it may seem that he fails, he never goes down without a fight,” there it is. The adoration in Ursa’s voice does not go unheard.

“If only he were a better bender,” Ozai muses, and it only takes his frown for Zuko’s smile to shake.

Their children are pawns they use against each other, Lu Ten notices, but does not feel alright with that discovery.

“Perhaps he is in need of a better teacher,” he tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Perhaps,” Ozai nods sharply, and Ursa scoffs quietly.

Azula stays quiet for a long moment. Zuko, as her older brother and the closes thing to an authority right there, and knowing her like he does, is sure it isn’t a good sign. He patiently waits for the outburst. He thinks himself a warrior waiting for his opponent’s attack.

“Let’s get out of here, Zuzu. It smells like old man in here,” she finally says with a scorn, and makes a show of wanting to throw up.

She has yet to learn to lie, but she knows to find an out whenever needed.

“I’d rather be eating a tart,” Zuko says, and looks for her eyes. He can’t stand to listen to what his father truly thinks of him any longer.

“Let’s steal some, dum-dum,” Azula takes his hand, and Zuko lets her lead the way.

Their parent’s words ring on their ears.

* * *

 

The next year, Lu Ten’s birthday goes uncelebrated. Crown Prince Iroh is nowhere to be seen, and Ozai is scheming as Ursa pushes back. Zuko and Azula stand in the middle of their game, proud and strong like the pawns they are.

The air still smells of cherry trees.


	5. Bonded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life has given them all another chance. Old wounds are hard to fix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for Day 4 was Family, but since I couldn't think of anything to go with it any sooner, I'm just now uploading it. 
> 
> This follows my headcanon that Urzai actually loved each other (or at least cared abouth the other), and were not married off for convenience. Basically because it has been done so many times it bores me. And to think of Ursa as a tortured woman bonded to a man he did not love is sickening, to say the least. He may not be a good man, but love can happen to love people, anyway.
> 
> Also, Azula is supposed to have mended her ways, and came back to the palace twelve years after the show's events, to find her family already 'fixed'. (that means, Ursa there, and Iroh).  
> This story takes place 18 years from the show's canon.

It was at the twilight of their lives that dishonored Prince and powerless, former Fire lord Ozai met Lady Ursa again. His cell was dark – it was always so dark he could not see past his own nose – but he needed not light to see who the person in front of the bars was. Her perfume filled the air, and it was as if time hadn’t passed between them. The scent carried memories he had sworn to forget.

He breathed, and hated every second how fire no longer escaped from his lips.

Ursa had to squint to see him. Coming from the outside, where the sun shone as bright as ever, her husband’s cell seemed like a nightmare. She could make his form, though. His shoulders were still broad, although she was sure exercise was out of his routine. His hair had grown so long it reached his hips – lifeless and disheveled, it resembled a mop more than a prince’s pride. She recognized him nonetheless; his eyes were just the same; fire gleaming in the dark. The Avatar could take the fire from his very soul, but he could never take it away from his eyes.

She had loved the man before her with everything she had. Had imagined ruling by his side, feeling his warmth caressing her. Ursa imagined them both behind the fire curtains of the throne room.  Their destinies were joined from the moment they locked eyes for the first time! He gave her a golden crown, and she gave him a piece of her mind, and two beautiful children. She imagined waking up every single morning, until her dying day, in his arms.

Nothing felt any better than that.

Their children would be conquerors – their children would be legends. Hymns would be written about their greatness, and he would put the entire world at her feet. He would love her as much as she loved him, and nothing else would ever matter. They would be terribly, utterly happy, as it should be. As she had always dreamed.

But those were the dreams of a naïve girl. The fantasies that were stripped from her the very moment she made her best blend for her Fire Lord Azulon. The very same day she heard her daughter’s words on her husband’s order to kill his own blood. The day she came into their chambers and saw him looking through his knives.

She took a step forward, and pulled down her cloak. Her hair, before a lovely shade of brown, had gotten grey – it reached her lower back, and seemed to flow like silk or liquid. His hands ached with the yearning to bury his fingers in it. It was always soft, and it always smelled of orange blossoms.

“You have returned to me,” the disgraced man said– his voice a mere whisper. A cough follows his words; he had forgotten what it was like to talk to someone.

Ozai did not dare hope for a response. He knew she was a creature straight from his dreams, but he was tired, and he was done, and he was never known for keeping himself from indulging in his pleasures. He took a deep breath, and marveled at the vivid smell of her. If it was a dream, he hoped to never wake up.

This time, however, the woman in front of him did not run to his arms and kissed him for all he was worth. The woman straight from his nightmares did nothing but stare at him in the same fashion she used to, before when they were husband and wife. Before, when there were no murders to cover and no sins to acknowledge. Before, when their love burned brighter than ambition, and family, and crowns, and death. Before, when it was just the two of them.

“I have returned to my family,” she corrected him, and it almost sounds soft. A loving mother scolding his child. He wanted to laugh, but the only sound that came out of his mouth was another cough.

“You’re… you’re real,” he croaked, and got closer to the bars in an attempt at getting a better glance of her. She stood there, draped in white, bags under her eyes and a red nose.

Zuko, he thought, and hated how it sobered him up. He looked in her eyes, trying to see the pain he knew would be there if her beloved son had left their world. He did not find it, but that did not relaxed him either.

“You lied,” she said, studying him with cold eyes.

“You promised you would come back.”

She scoffs, indignant as always. As if missing her was his problem and not her doing. “You hurt my son. You destroyed my daughter.”

Ozai laughed, and shook his head. Her brows furrowed. She grabbed his hair, and pulled hard, forcing him to look at her eyes. There is fire in her, so he knows. It had been sleeping before. It now burns hot. She looks at him with piercing eyes, and he has the grace to lower his glaze, to tremble before her.

He knows a lost battle when he sees one, so he accepted her blow with honor, if such a thing could be found in a disgraced man.

“I loved you with everything I was, and there was never a moment where I didn’t think of you,” he finally said, after a pause, with a trembling voice.

Her lower lip shook and Ursa bited hard on it. “Your brother has died,” she said. “He wanted you to know he was sorry.”

There was a pause too long for it to be comfortable. Ursa looked in the darkness, searching for a sign on his face that would betray the man she had adored. Any signs that the charming man who had promised her the world was there, somewhere. That the man whose small laughter had made her knees tremble was there, with ther. That her lover had mended his way.

Darkness overtook them, and she could not see a thing.

Ursa was no longer a little girl neither an impressionable woman – she would not cry for a man who did not have a heart. She clasped her hands together, and waited. Waited for the man she loved to appear. Waited for her dreams to shatter for one last time. Waited for her family to mend itself – to come back to normal.

 “What for?” Ozai finally asked, turning away from her. His tone was unreadable, but she knew better. He was never a good liar for those who knew him. That is why, she suspected, he never allowed anyone to get close to him. “I am not the one who died.”

His attempt at humor was not a surprise, and she did not even bat an eye. How a man on his knees would manage to act so blinded by his idiotic pride, she did not know, but she could not say she expected anything but that from him. “Agni knows what he meant by that,” she huffed and rolled her eyes “– how he thought you deserved it,” she spat, her voice soft as a song. “But I supposed you should know.”

He made a noise of acknowledgement, but did not say more. She thought she saw his shoulders tremble, but she blamed her stupid reveries in the lack of light.

Silence surrounded them like an old lover, the only thing betraying her presence being her soft breath and the fresh scent.

She, immaculate and lovely, shouldn’t be there around the filth, Ozai thought grimly.

“How was it?”

Her eyes were back on him, and he trembled. “Peaceful,” she says, as soft as a whisper. “He went on his sleep.”

He snorted.  “Fit for a lazy idiot,” Ozai said, and Ursa could hear his sneer. Could hear the way his voice betrayed his true feelings.

“He went in his sleep, surrounded by those who love him,” Ursa said, her tone never flickering.  “ _Who will cry for you once you leave this place, my love?”_ she asked, and moved her hand to caress his bony cheek.

Her touch was so soft he felt he could cry out loud. Her warmth caressed him, and Ozai closed her eyes.

“Have you come back to torture me?” he asked, laughter in his voice. It broke her how much he seemed to enjoy the prospect of it. “ _Haunt me, my sun. It’s been too long_.”

“You could have had it all,” she said, and there was a ‘we’ that seemed to take his breath away if only for a second. She frowned. “I could have loved you until my last breath!” she did not know whom she is angry with – herself, or him. It should sicken her how eager she was to forgive and forget. To want to hug him and never let go. To lose herself to a love that consumed her and burned everything it touched.

Her loving words hurt more than any curses she could’ve said to him. That any knife she could’ve thrown at him.

“I could have forgiven you, but you had to hurt them. You broke us,” she reproached, and he did not need to look at her to know she was pouting. That she was glaring.

“There was a war,” he said, and it sounded pathetic to her ears. He wasn’t even trying to sound convincing.

“They were blood of your blood,” she said, and she felt her tears burning at the corner of her eyes, but did not let her tone flutter. Ursa had practiced for years by his side.

Ozai opened his mouth, tried to say something, but failed miserably.

“You are a monster,” she laughed, full of disbelief. “You were one back then, but I couldn’t see it. How foolish I was, to think that love could change you! You, who killed your own father. You, who rejoiced in your nephew’s blood. You, who can’t even mourn the death of a brother!”

“I can’t mourn a brother I didn’t have!”

“You didn’t have one because you never accepted him to begin with!” she yelled back, her voice echoing in the small walls of his cell. “You push people away, and play with them like toys and pawns for your own entertainment.”

He was shaking then. Wanting his tormentor to be silenced forever. Wanting that nightmare to end at last. Wanting her torture to keep on going until he was done, and he was freed, and he could never have to deal with her painfilled eyes anymore.

“Are you any different, my love?!”

“Everything I have ever done was to protect those that I love and care about!” she said, her fists clenched. “My mistake was loving someone who did not deserve it.”

He accepted the blow, but he couldn’t say it did not hurt.

Bitter tone, he said, “foolish girl, indeed. Weak and pathetic – couldn’t even do something for yourself—“

Ursa laughed, interrupting him for the first time. “Always so predictable,” she shook her head. “Iroh was right, though I can’t say I’m surprised.”

He frowned, his jaw tight. “You seem to forget I know how to read you as much as you know me, my husband,” she said, her voice back at being a soft caress. “Your brother’s ceremony will be held tomorrow morning. You may want to pray for his spirit, and your own. Agni knows you won’t be granted the mercy of a swift passing around your loved ones like your beloved brother.”

 

* * *

 

“You saw Father,” Azula never asks questions – she only states facts and waits for them to be confirmed. Ursa shared that trait when she was younger. She knows her own mother hated it, she could almost smile.

Azula is surprised at how unreadable her mother’s face is, but that does not stop her from trying.

“Yes, I did.”

“I haven’t visited in years,” the princess admited in a small voice, waiting for her mother to confess. She balances her weight on her feet, almost dancing-like, as if the situation didn’t bother her at all. As if her curiosity was simply picked, and the thought were not eating her mind.

“Not much has changed,” Ursa said, walking with her daughter.

“Was he happy?” the princess asked, looking promptly at her nails.

“With what?”

“Was he happy to learn of General Iroh’s death?” General. Never Uncle. Azula might have made peace with her past and her wrongdoings, but some things never changed. Ursa supposed she felt safer that way – rejecting someone before they could reject her was her most trusted tactic.

Ursa considered her daughter, looking at her as discreetly as she could muster. “He acted like it,” she said, hoping the princess would catch on.

Her daughter was not one to disappoint. “But you don’t think he was,” Azula said, stopping to watch her mother’s reaction.

Ursa’s only reply was a short shake of her head, and Azula’s lower lip trembled. It was then that Ursa noticed her daughter’s shaky breath, and the way she played with her hands.

“Azula—“she called, but was soon interrupted by the princess nervous, silly laughter.

“I know I shouldn’t care – I know it’s wrong,” she smiled, almost apologetically, but it fell cold as ice. Fake. Her lower lip trembled, and the princess was gone, leaving the girl behind. “But I… I- he is my father. It is stupid, and pathetic, but I-”

Ursa stopped her, one slender hand on her daughter’s shoulder. The warmth of her touch seemed to serve to calm her.

“I love him too, my darling.”

What happened next surprised them both equally. Azula’s warm arms found their place around her mother, and she hugged her tight. Ursa did not notice her own crying until she heard her daughter’s muffled sobs.

“He does not deserve it, and it doesn’t make sense, but I do,” Ursa said, caressing her hair.

“I-I wish…” Azula stopped herself, suddenly small and frail. Ursa understood. She wanted her daughter to know so.

With her eyes closed, she nodded, feeling her daughter’s body trembled in her arms. She held Azula tighter.  “Life has given us all a second chance.”

“We mustn’t be crying over him,” the princess said, firmly. The façade of a perfect warrior, crying and all. It is probably what she thought Ursa wanted to hear, and it breaks the mother’s heart. She wanted her to know that it was okay, that she would never harm her for showing emotions. That she felt grateful she could confide in her that way.

All words died in her throat.

“I think he loved you,” Ursa finally said, and she knew that was something that had clouded her daughter’s mind and troubled her sleep ever since she got better. Was she loved, or was she simply groomed to become a warlord? Was she something more than her bending? Did she mean anything for him?

“No one who has known you,” she continued, pushing a strand of hair behind her ears, “–really know you, the girl I always thought you could be – could do so without loving you,” Ursa’s whisper was accompanied by a soft caress to Azula’s cheek, and she smiled despite her tears. “But his love… his love has always been consuming.”

“You didn’t let him destroy you,” she pointed, and looked away, as if ashamed of her own vulnerability. Of the way her father had destroyed her.

“I wasn’t there for the worst part. But I am here now, and I am willing to make things right. I owe you and your brother as much.”

“So you don’t think Father can…?” Azula asked, her hope clear in her eyes.

Ursa shook her head sadly, “I don’t.”

“But you still love him.”

“I suppose I’m not any better than him, after all.”


	6. Reckless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He does something reckless - he goes after her.

“Did he propose?”

“I suppose he tried,” if she was startled by the prince’s sudden appearance, she did not show. Turning to face him, she bows. “My prince.”

“Lady Kumiko,” he greets her with a nod and offers his arm. She accepted it with reverence and warm fingers and allows herself to be guided to the gardens. After having heard Captain Zheng, she needed air. Her head is spinning.

 

The two walk in silence, trying to get away from prying glances and the murmur of court. There was a celebration inside. Inside, where they are Crown Prince Iroh and a simple noblewoman. Inside, where their chains and their roles are suffocating. Where a bride and a heartbroken man are waiting for them, their souls in their hands, the weight of their promises heavy.  
  


“I have the pleasure of knowing Captain Zheng,” he offers with a side glance at her, once they are away from the crowd and possible curious ears. “He is a good man.”

“That he is,” she concedes, careful not to give too much away. This game is getting old, though, and the pain in her heart makes it almost unbearable, no matter how much comfort and joy she finds speaking to him. “He told me he seeks to slay a dragon. He is certain that would bring me in.”

“Not an easy feat, but one he might be able to perform," he says, and then he looks at her, all mischief. It is during those small moments she finds herself lacking the energy to protest, to fight his advances. To suppress her own feelings.  "The dragon, I mean.”

“The dragon,” she repeats, a small smile on her lips. “Why would anyone want to kill such a wonderful creature?”

“Are you not interested in marrying a powerful warrior? Captain Zheng is loyal to his nation.”

“If only he knew loyalty to his women,” she says with a roll of her eyes and a teasing smile. Iroh feels the punch but makes an attempt not to react. He is loyal to the woman he loves, even if said woman is not the lady waiting for his return, a princess that already owns the title. 

Pursing her lips, she sighs. “If I ever marry, it will be for love,” she says, already in a reverie that leaves him wanting nothing more than being a part of. It lasts a few moments, though, and before he can say anything, Iroh feels her eyes burning on him, awaiting a response. He finds it difficult to speak.

A warrior and a prince should never be at a loss of words, yet he has found himself more and more speechless whenever she is around. The picture of royal eloquence. His father would send his tutors away if he saw him like this. 

If he ever learned about his heir's treason, that is.

Clearing his throat, he says, “not all of us can presume such an honor.”

“And what a shame that is,” she sounds honest, and it is that honesty and warmth that are his undoing. She seems to catch on the meaning of her words, probably slipped before she could filter them, and quickly adds, cheeks as red as a cherry, “b-besides…I really can’t do so until my sister Seina marries as well. There is little sense in me encouraging his advances if no such thing will come out of it.”

He hums low in his throat. That might suppose a problem in the future, if he ever decides to go that way.

If he ever _can_.

This night, however, he finds he couldn’t care less about his future. Iroh, Crown Prince of the Fire Nation and famous perfectionist, allows himself to let go. He does so by taking her hand in his.

“I heard Lady Ming Ming is going to join court soon,” Lady Kumiko whispers in the night, but Iroh does not give her the pleasure of letting her hand go. She feels angry at her relief.

“She will. She was expected to arrive in two days, but she...”

“Your wedding must not be far,” she says, forcing a smile. Iroh knows what a smile looks like on her, and he is not fooled by her courageous act. It makes him ache.“You must be happy. You’re a lucky man,” she says, and finds relief on the way her voice does not break, even though the pain in her heart makes it unbearable. “I have heard she is wonderful.”

“I am," he simply whispers, and it is weak and hollow. 

The crickets sing, under the moonlight there is no reason to look for words. She feels this must be a farewell, but he is not so ready yet. He holds on tighter, and she feels she can kill the man that dares take them apart. Fire Lord or not.

“Would you care for a ride?”

She startles, as the comfortable silence had already stretched between them. Her eyes are curious as they study the prince besides her. “Where to?”

He can’t help but smile. “The sky,” he says, with a nonchalant movement of his hand.

She laughs at this, and the sound reminds him of bells in an empty hall. “Do firebenders have mastered the art of flying?” she asks, an eyebrow raised.

“Though we have… Who says I was the one doing the flying?”

“Iroh…?” she frowns.

“Follow me,” his voice is gentle as he takes her hand. Her hand is smaller, and much colder than his. The contrast is welcomed, and he can’t help but feel the need to caress with his thumb, to hold on tighter.

The creature lies over some rocks, yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness. It seems to look upon the Caldera like a mother would look upon her children. The scales move slightly every time the dragon takes a breath, iridescent under the moonlight. Kumiko observes having lost the conscience of just how indignant it is her surprise, but she could care less. The creature in front of her is majestic.

“Dear Agni, this can’t…”

“Don’t be frightened. Den here is a darling.”

“I’m not scared,” she whispered, her eyes locked on those of the dragon, who seems to study her. She hopes she is found worthy, though she knows not why. “Den,” she pronounces, tasting the way it flows from her mouth. The dragon seems to nod, as if it could understand her. As if it were the only creature on Earth capable of that. Its citrine eyes remind her of someone she trusts deeply, and she finds she is no longer afraid.

If she had doubts magic existed before, she is sure of it now.

“Come up with me, Kumiko,” Iroh calls from above Den, and Kumiko is surprised she did not see when he mounted it. The dragon is just that fascinating.

Without room for second thoughts, she nods. Accepting Iroh’s strong hand she climbs the dragon, feeling the strength of its scales pressing into her legs. She caresses them, marveled.

“We are going to die,” she murmurs, but she finds that she does not care. She could die right there and then, and she’d do so with a smile on her face. She holds on tight, feeling the warmth of his back burning on her chest. 

“Nothing’s going to happen to you if you don't let go,” he says, and she feels the vibrations of his voice touching her as a caress.

“Are you sure?”

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his clear eyes intent on her, waiting. She wets her lips, already knowing the answer.

“I hope I don’t regret this,” she whispers, and the mortified tone of her voice actually gains her a chuckle.

“You won’t.”

 

And with that, they took flight.

For a bit, her screams pierce the sky, echoed by his laughter.

“Hold on tight!”

“I’m already doing it!”

“Then nothing’s gonna happen to you!”

Her hair flies in the sky, and he swears he can smell the roses she bathes in, and the wind carries his laughter and his wanting.

 

She feels she can touch the stars, and nothing matters anymore, for at least up there she is free and loved, and what else is there to wish?


	7. Beautiful

Her name was lady Kumiko, and she was beautiful to his eyes.

She had long hair that reached her hips, that was just a little lighter than his. It always smelled of jasmine, and it made him ache with the need to caress it and to wake up every single day of his life next to it. To find the scent clinging to his pillows.  She was not as skinny as was fashionable, and her beauty was more a reminder of that of a race long dead. The irony was not lost on him, for every step she took her grace was paraded, like a feather in the wind. Like a bird in flight. Like Air.  Her cheeks were round and soft, the color of cinnamon. Her eyes glinted with wit and warmth, the color of ashes.

She was a lady of the court, daughter of a respected warrior that had fought for Sozin and now fought for Azulon. 

(And she was the sweetest spirit Iroh had come to meet, and a ruthless critic of the Fire Nation’s poetry, which he found on the endless afternoons spent side by side.)

* * *

The party is at its peak when Iroh notices her leaving. 

The young prince says his excuses, and does something reckless - he goes after her. 

  
  
“Are you alright, Lady Kumiko?”

She jumps at hearing his voice, but quickly recovers. 

“Certainly, I am, Prince Iroh. I thank you for your concern.”

The night is warm, so warm it is becoming unbearable. She needed fresh air, to be away from the multitude. She had sought solitude, but that solitude could not be achieved. It seems sometimes one just can’t get what one seeks. Not that she is complaining, she thinks, as she looks at him from the corner of her eye. 

She thinks she must say something, whatever. Lady Kumiko does not know how to ask someone to stay without actually saying those words, so she waits.

An intoxicating silence surrounds them. It extends to the death of the night, under a sky full of stars and far from the maddening crowd. Lady Kumiko suspects she must be the one to end it – to say something that ends the tension – _tension from what?_ – but before she can muster the courage to say something – _would it be appropriate? Is she supposed to be entertaining a man, even if said man is the crown prince of a nation?_ She does not know and is too afraid to ask – Iroh, however, does.

“I hope you are enjoying your stay in the capital.”

It is a polite comment. Something you would expect from a noble, and even from a prince, if a prince were so inclined to interact and exchange small talk with the daughter of a noble outside of the strictly necessary, that is. It must be painfully boring inside that the prince of the nation feels the need to seek distraction in her, Kumiko muses. She smiles all the same. If she is naught but a pretty distraction, then so be it. At least he is there with her. If she closes her eyes he is not a prince, and she is not simply a lady. If she closes her eyes, she knows all the words she must muster, and she has all the strength in the world to do so. If she closes her eyes, she dreams, and her dreams almost seem approachable. 

She decides to indulge him, though she does not know how. She wets her lips, and carefully weights her words. “I am. The Fire Lord was extremely generous in extending an invitation for us,” Kumiko settles on that, believing it to be a polite yet direct answer. The kind that will be well appreciated, murmured perhaps too many times to count by demure princesses and ladies before her.

Words too polite to be personal.

If there is something Iroh is known for, that is making _everything_ personal.

“It was not the Fire Lord,” he says carefully, eying her from the corner of his eye. He does not miss the way Kumiko’s cheeks color slightly, though she quickly blames the heat of the night by wiping away the traces of sweat at her forehead.

His hands ache with the desire to caress her cheeks. 

“I am grateful all the same," she says, and it sounds like a whisper. 

“Lady Kumiko… are you a bender?”

“I have a flame,” she says, uncertain. How he is able to deflect reminds her of her grandmother’s stories about air benders, and the thought serves to sober her up. “I must apologize. I am rather ashamed at my lack of mastery in my element, and more so at the fact that it did not really interest me growing up.”

She should at least act as if she were ashamed. She should at least lower her gaze - she finds that she does not want to. Finds that the only thing she is capable of saying to him is the truth.

Even a more wonderful discovery is his smile, warm and soft, as he eyes her with an interest that did not fade, even after her last confession.

“Just what did interest you?”

“Music,” she says, her eyes shining before she can stop herself. If the prince has forgotten what is costume and has thrown etiquette away, then she feels no need to stick to it. Mother will be displeased if she ever learns about her chat with the prince, but Kumiko believes she deserves a night of rebellion, however brief that may be.

It does not hurt that the prince can’t seem to take his eyes out of her, or the way those eyes glisten –like jewels – and asks questions that sound like a caress.

 “The world,” she adds, playing with her hands. “– There’s too much to see.”

They must be lost, Kumiko knows, for if she dares reciprocate the prince’s looks she might not make it. Iroh smiles, eyes still fixed on her, and Kumiko feels the heat of his gaze even as she stands still on her decision not to look at him.

Prince Iroh of the Fire Nation is a people person. He has seen those eyes a thousand times –he is in front of a dreamer.

He finds he has not the strength to mock her, nor the desire to do so. Lady Kumiko looks at the moon, their natural opposite, and he sees a yearning he has felt before. One he cannot feel, for the crown that rests on his head is big. He wants to take her away from it all – to show her the cities he has known, and those he hasn’t. His heart aches, and he yearns.

“And history,” she adds, finally turning to see him.

She regrets it as soon as she does, for his eyes take her breath away.

“Caring for the past… doesn’t it trap you?” he crooks his head to the side as he listens to her. 

“It helps one understand our present. Prepare for the future.”

“Would you say you are interested in philosophy?”

“Only when something can come out of it. If there is no purpose, I don’t care.”  
  
He smiles then, a broad smile that is warm and fire, and she no longer feels cold.  
  
  
  


* * *

They talk until the faintest trace of the sun can be seen on the horizon, eyes tired but still fixed on the other. Iroh must feel the sun rising, as she does, but he says nothing. He sits still beside her, a smile on his lips, as he finish telling her one of his stories. She laughs softly, and feels his hair tickling her bare shoulder. 

The bubble is popped by her father calling for her from afar. It breaks the spell, for she is to be back at being a simple girl, and he a prince.

The smile falls from her lips.

“Forgive me, my prince. I believe that’s my father’s calling. I better not make him wait.”

“Wouldn’t want that," he whispers, but he sounds like he wouldn't really care if only he'd get to be with her for a little longer.

It is something that echoes in her.

“It was a pleasure to speak with you, my prince," she says as she bows. 

“The pleasure is all mine.”

“Lady Kumiko, I – your bracelet!”

“Oh!”

“Allow me,” he says as he takes her hand in his, small and soft. He places the bracelet there, his touch lingering like a caress. 

She should be angry at the way her knees weaken, but she has not the strength. 

“T-that is very kind of you, my Prince. You do not need to –“ she mumbles, cheeks red.

“A simple ‘thank you’ would do," he says, and she can hear the smile on his lips, even if she doesn't see it.

“Thank you, your highness,” Lady Kumiko answers, and there is not shaking in her voice. It carries the words steady, like rock, though softer. Much, much softer.

“Iroh,” he whispers, against all his judgment, against all his training. He wishes to hear her say it – to listen to the flow of her voice on the syllables, like a song.

“As you wish,” she answers, and he makes an attempt at hiding his disappointment.

“May I see you again?”

She turns to see him. He does not let go of her hand, and she is afraid of how much she is enjoying his warmth. Kumiko recognizes the need to put on higher walls, and wetting her lips, she explains, “I am most afraid I will be traveling south. _My father_ —”

Kumiko feels his eyes burning through her. Her knees would give in at any time, but she finds that she does not care, though she should. Lady Kumiko knows not a thing about war, but she fights against the warmth in her belly and the way her head feels dizzy like many warriors have done before.

Prince Iroh is an attractive young man, but his reputation precedes him.

“He should not leave until a fortnight,” he says, his voice warm. “I should know, for I am to join him at the front.”

She makes a weak effort at freeing her hand. It is annoying how easily he lets go of it. Kumiko finds herself almost offering it, just to feel the same warmth again. “Forgive me, my prince, but I don’t think this is—”

“Pertinent?”

“Pertinent,” she repeats, looking anywhere but him.

“What is not pertinent about two friends sharing tea?”

“You didn’t mention tea,” she says, brows frowning.

“I just did,” he says, his eyes smiling.

Kukimo stops, lips pressed shut. _This is insane._ She shouldn’t be playing those games, but there is something so alluring…

“Jasmine,” she says, eyes closed. “I favor jasmine.”

“It shall be jasmine, then. Your prince will expect you in these same gardens tomorrow before noon.”

“I’d rather not displease Prince Ozai,” she joked, her eyes gleaming.

Iroh laughs at the mention of his baby brother. “Sleep well, lady Kumiko.”

“Until tomorrow, my prince.”

“Iroh,” she whispered under her breath.

 

A smile creeps on her lips, and she can’t fight against it. She doesn't want to.


End file.
